


Ένα (One)

by wyntre



Series: Bright Star, Would I Were Steadfast As Thou Art [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: "Lift home?", M/M, soft, verbose metaphors which were just an excuse for me to wax lyrical about Michael Sheen's eyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 11:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20173282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntre/pseuds/wyntre
Summary: What Crowley wanted to say wasoh angel, I would have waited for you for a thousand lifetimes morebut it came out as “ngk.”





	Ένα (One)

**Author's Note:**

> Ένα (Romanized as Ena) is Greek for 'One' and it's also the title of a song by a Greek artist named Peggy Zina. Please go listen to it + find a translation. 
> 
> Inspired by the watershed moment in the bombed out church. Y'all know what I'm talking about.

_ “Lift home?” _

It was a simple offer. One that shocked Aziraphale to his very core. The interior of the Bentley was warm and dry; safe if you would. Aziraphale reclined in the passenger’s seat as Crowley drove through a bombed out London back to Soho and Aziraphale’s bookshop. The silence between them was comfortable, as it had always been; but the mood had shifted and Aziraphale found himself glancing at Crowley’s angular profile in the half shadows. He had always thought Crowley was good looking - he would’ve been remiss to not see that; but now, he realised the depths of his own feelings and it came crashing over him like a wave. Crowley was beautiful. In the way a storm is beautiful; all roiling clouds, slate grey and powerful. It was frightening, the way he wanted to reach across the gap and place his hand on Crowley’s thigh in a gesture he’d performed a thousand times but now had a totally different meaning. He wanted to feel the way Crowley’s corporeal body responded to touch, how he could use those long fingers to prise him open like an oyster, chasing pearls and fathomless depths. He wanted to know Crowley. Biblically. 

The Bentley puttered to a stop outside the bookshop, and Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley.    
“I guess you better get going then?” Crowley wouldn’t meet his eyes, kept glancing everywhere but the wide blue ocean in front of him, as if he was terrified of what he would find there.    
“Come in for a drink?” The angel offered, soft and hopeful - ever hopeful that he could spend just one more moment with Crowley by his side. 

Crowley chewed on his lip. He let searching blue find yellow in the darkness, and then he tripped into endlessness. There was no coming back from this. He knew. He knew how he’d felt since the start. But what he found in blue was earnestness and the feeling of home.    
“Azira-”

“Hush, Crowley.” Aziraphale reached across the gap and covered his hand with his own. Warm, plump; soft. A small miracle darkened the Bentley’s windows to prying eyes and the angel placed Crowley’s large hand against his cheek. Crowley swallowed harshly, hardly daring to believe that this was happening.    
“A-are you sure?” Crowley stumbled over his words.    
“I’m sorry it’s taken me this long.”

What Crowley wanted to say was  _ oh angel, I would have waited for you for a thousand lifetimes more  _ but it came out as “ngk.”

Aziraphale took a steadying breath and moved to press his lips to Crowley’s palm. Trailing tender kisses down the skin of the demon’s wrist, kisses that burned and left Crowley hoping, praying,  _ yearning _ for more. Crowley’s breath hitched.    
“Angel,” he bit out the word in reverence, wrung from his very core and Aziraphale found his soul shaking, trembling. He looked up at Crowley with ocean eyes; endless, fathomless. Hungry. 

“Stay with me tonight?” It was hope-filled and aching; pulled from every celestial fibre, every golden touch of Grace that enveloped the angel; and Crowley, Crowley careened and tumbled towards the Earth, the feel of Aziraphale’s soft lips pressed to the inside of his wrist the only thing holding him steady. He nodded, not trusting his voice to not betray him. 

He would stay forever if Aziraphale would have him. 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Ένα (One)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20174596) by [watery_weasel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/watery_weasel/pseuds/watery_weasel)


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